


And in time we'll tell

by historiCthrenody (Cookieluv246)



Series: Zombiestuck: (AiTWT universe) [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Action/Adventure, Apocalypse, Diary/Journal, Drama, End of the World, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, Zombie Apocalypse, dad's a really good person and im glad to give him humanization in this fic, dad's like a superhero in this fic, even though they do end up frickle frackling at some point but, it's like a character study of him, there will be more characters later but the story focuses on him and his son's survival, there's not a lot of romance in the beginning but it starts to unfold in later chapters, very punk, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookieluv246/pseuds/historiCthrenody
Summary: The burnings. The ashes.And it all came crashing down.Good Lord, did it all come crashing down.
Relationships: Dad Egbert/John Egbert
Series: Zombiestuck: (AiTWT universe) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636843
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Prologue, Act 1

**\-- turntechGodhead** **[TG]** ** began pestering ectoBiologist ** **[EB]** ** at 16:13 --**

** TG: hey so what sort of insane loot did you rake in today  **

** EB: i got a little monsters poster, it's so awesome. i'm going to watch it again today, the applejuice scene was so funny. **

** TG: oh hell that is such a coincidence i just found an unopened container of apple juice in my closet it is like fucking christmas up in here **

** EB: ok thats fine, but i just have one question and then a word of caution. have you ever seen a movie called little monsters starring howie mandel and fred savage? **

** TG: but **

** TG: the seal on the bottle is unbroken **

** TG: are you suggesting someone put piss in my apple juice at the factory **

** EB: all im saying is don't you think monster howie mandel has the power to do something as simple as reseal a bottle? **

** EB: try using your-- **

** EB: hey, **

** EB: brb for a second, i think my dad is calling me downstairs. **

** EB: i wonder what that’s all about. **

** TG: yea sure **

** TG: see what he wants **

** EB: it’s strange, he never usually cares about what i do during this hour of the day. **

** TG: its cool ill just be over here brooding over my choice aj **

** EB: WOAH! **

** TG: huh **

** EB: WHAT WAS THAT?! **

** TG: what was what **

** EB: THAT NOISE!!! **

** EB: BRB.  **

** EB: BRB, HOLY SHIT!!!! **


	2. Prologue, Act 2

It’s a crack past noon. The birds are awake, the sky is cheery, the day is going on as one would much hope. John’s somewhere upstairs, most likely playing his video games. Talking to his friends, or maybe reading a book. Who would know, the hapless sport. Meanwhile, you are downstairs in the kitchen having your morning coffee with some bread and a newspaper. 

The thing you notice about your day is everything is ratherly average. The bagel you eat, the paper you read, the coffee, your thoughts, your concerns. Nothing strikes you as pertinent or bold enough to exclaim or lament about.

You drink your coffee. 

You have a bite.

You think mindless thoughts.

Everything is normal. Typical. Regular. Everything, including the radio buzz that plays out the soft tunes of some of your favorite Smooth Jazz hits. The world is a soft dewy feeling in your chest, and much like most of the day, you don’t turn your head. You don’t lift a brow as the channel changes from music to what you assume to be advertisements.

But the first thing that chokes you as odds, is the hurried tone of newscasters.

_“And it’s happening now?”_

_“Yes, many individuals are in the process of leaving. The state calls for immediate evacuation--”_

_“There’s been a hurdle. Swarms of people outside buildings, taking shelter, food, water supply, electricity--”_

You turn your head to the radio, briefly, as you chew more thoughtfully on your food.

_“It’s a nightmare on the streets, all havoc has broken out.”_

_“It’s like living in a war zone right now. Nobody knows what to do about their families, their kids--”_

_“The best advice I have for you is to go up. Stay indoors, or run, but don’t stay outside.”_

You eye the radio, and your living room, as you get a strong sense to turn the t.v. on. So you go ahead, and crawl from your space in the kitchen to do just that. Wiping a napkin on your mouth as you make your way cooly to your couch, and sit down with a little more recourse than you’re used to doing.

The feeling you remember the most from all this is: Alert.

You were very curious about the prognosis of such events from your favorite radio broadcast.

_“--And they say the people are coming out of buildings far and wide in droves. Many have taken to bomb shelters, and citywide hurricane emergency facilities to deal with the upcast of people coming in through the states. Thousands of workers injured at the scene, talking about the events in hurried spectacles. Many, don’t know what to make of it, other than a disaster as people--things have come out from the sewers, swamps, and other such domains--”_

_“ ‘This is a cry for help from God,’ Says one passerbier, as people try to rush the roads as fast as they possibly can. There’s no way to escape the crowds, or the trainwreck of people. As more and more come out to try to hurdle their way at what the government categorises this as a Code: ORANGE, and Code: CBR. Many travelers coming from out of state suggest that it’s no better in the surrounding areas, one we managed to interview and their allegations go as follows,”_

_“ ‘People think these things are a joke. That shit can’t just happen. But it’s all real, these folks come out at you and grab you.’ They continue. ‘It’s no joke. These things are real and treacherous and they’re out for us.’ “_

_“The cries of Isabella Lasastresa and her family can be heard outside these walls. Only being outshone by the honking horns on the street, these are the things the family has to say about it: “_

_“ ‘It’s not *sniff* like what they say in the movies. It’s *sniff* so much scarier than that. These things are real, and they try to bite you. I lost my dog to one of those f******. You can’t just fight them, all you can do is run.’ “_

_“Thankfully, there were very few other casualties for the Lasastresa family as they try to regain their bearings.”_

You call out to your son.

_“In late news, the President has something to say about all the events taking place here. His speech comes with much comfort, as he starts:”_

_“Hello, nationwide television. If you are listening to this, I hope you’re somewhere safe. Comfortable, snug in your bed, as war has broken out outside due to the terrifying events. I am no soothe-smith. I have only heart and dedication to bestow upon the people. Upon the United States of America, or wherever and whomever needs to see this. The world is in danger. An epidemic has broken out loose. If you are here, you may not know of the events transpiring around you, but a sad many already has. They woke up to the sounds of screams outside their bedroom window, or perhaps already in their home.”_

_“The news is bleak, but we can be stronger. We the people can be strong against the events of what we like to call ‘The outbreak.’ There are things only God needs to know, but humans are foolish creatures. We temper with the unforeseeable every day, as we go against God’s graces with every movement and new technology. We ask for safety, when there is none. We ask for security, in the outcries of trepidation. We ask for continuity, when there is as much foresight for such as any common man could bestow. We look for the mundane, for the norm, for uniformity, in a world so scarcely different than what we might call as ‘ordinary.’”_

_“There are things outside your door, walking right now that have the mindset of beasts, and animals, and are scarcely less docile. They want to ravage you, eat you, hurt you, your friends, your family, your comrades. They want to hurt what we as people consider normal. They want to hurt your job, they want to hurt your country. They want to hurt wherever they can get their foot in the door.”_

_“But we won’t let them. We, the people, will not let them get away with the travesty they already have. We the people, are a fair and judaical society that will not acquit animals, beasts, of murder. We the people, will stand upright. Forever slung from the bottoms to the wealthiest of men. We will stay upright with a candle of a hope, as we all stand strong together. As one nation, one country, one world.”_

_“If you already have been hurt by these events, then I pray for you. If you haven’t already, then I applaud you with luck. I pray for your families, I pray for your children. For your women, and for your men--”_

You notice your son walk in, and he came down right when he heard,

_“Stay in the house. Don’t go on the streets. Barricade your home. There are things ready to get you at a moments notice. The walkers are afoot, America. Good luck.”_

The broadcast closes in on itself, and you’re met with the presence of your son, as he looks at you in confusion, and uneasiness. He steps closer to you on the couch, and you bring him into your arms, as you keep your eyes focused on the television.

_“Breaking news--The roads are closed on I--”_

_“People have been hurt. The casualty rating keeps going up, and up it’s gotten to at least five thousa--”_

_“There are news reports that this is due to a vaccine outb--”_

_“People are burning the streets and calling this the new amsterda--”_

_“Nobody’s safe. Nobody’s immune. Just in the last hour, Senator Charles D--”_

_“Stay indoors, keep your children safe. Your animals, your pets--”_

You just keep watching, and watching, as more news drivels out through the hours, as you get more in fear with each new reading. The situation out there looks frightening. You only stop listening to the T.V. when you hear John speak, finally.

“Dad…?” He starts, looking at you dead in the eyes with his face dawning you with more fear than the hell going on around the country. “Dad, I’m scared.” 

He says this with anxiety, that you can tell is making you freeze up with agitation.

You put a hand on his shoulder, and rub him in gentle circles, as you speak with mild trepidation.

“We’re going to be safe, son. Just stay put, we’ll get this all straightened out.”

He leans in, and gives you a hug, as you’re shaken with a sudden banging at the door. You grip him tighter, as you stare out at the door, as the knocking gets louder and louder.

It’s deafening to hear, you think it must be the trees outside, but you don’t hear much else as you ungrip the tight grasp you have on your son, and whisper,

“Go back upstairs. Stay away from the windows, I’m going to get some things from the garage.”

He nods, and runs skittishly on numb feet. You can tell he’s scared. You are too, as the events finally come down on you, and keeps you grounded to the present.

You have to think fast.

There are some things in the garage that should help you out. Some wood left over from earlier building projects like birdhouses you and your son used to try. Some power tools, some miscellaneous bolts and doodads. You move quickly, having your son in your mind and your heart as you make sure the number one person in your life is protected and safe. 

Your fear drives you to build, as you take the wood planks to the door first and start to hammer in the nails. You’re not sure if you have enough for the full first level, but you try as much as your wits can allow. You have a strong arm for all of this, and you let a little bit of elbow grease and sweat manage your way through the task at hand. 

The work is laborious, but not difficult. Difficult is a luxury, you can’t afford, as you hold the nails within your teeth, and grunt out in solidarity. Eyes narrowed, fixed on the wall, as you keep working harder and harder in effort. Not sure with what you’re working with exactly, you go for over-prepared rather than less so.

You hammer in nails, and cut your hands with scrapes. Knuckles slightly bruised, as sweat drops from your forehead and arms. Masking your anxiety with work was nothing new to you, you pulled your collar from your shirt, and raised your sleeves, as you bang plank harder and harder against the door frame.

You move on, starting on the windows next.

You plow, and you plow. The echoes of car honks from outside, and airplanes speeding out into nothing drive you to continue. There’s a lot of noise in the normal quiet of the midday, more activity than either John or you are used too. You’re just scared of the impending details of all this. Scared, of what things you don’t know. You don’t know what to do.

You’re scared, and that’s all you can manage to say.

Time drifts off into itself, you hammer away at the window as you keep to your sobriety. But, you’re not fully in your best conditions as you hammer your finger into the wall. You hiss, seeing a bit of blood, and look towards outside as you still are rumbled by the amount of noise.

You call to John,

“JOHN.”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“CAN YOU GET ME BANDAGES FROM MY MEDICINE CABINET?”

You press on the wound, sticking the offending finger into your mouth, as you try to not get blood on your better clothes.

You suck on your finger, waiting as for your son to come down with your things. But life isn’t as careless as you are, as you hear a large beating come from the door in your kitchen. You hadn’t gotten to that part of the house yet, and you step carefully into the next room.

Your footsteps weighted, and dense. You’re careful. Careful is all you can say, as you hear another beat of knocking come from the outside. You grab a crane that you had left on your table, your weapon of choice just incase you hear a--

 _Crash_ , from the windowpane to your right. You look to see the offending circumstances, but are tongue-tied when a _crack_ comes from the door you were just staring at. Everything happening which-way, you’re startled and alarmed as you move both back and forward on the deafening ground.

You stand to fight.

 **Something** comes rushing through the door, jimmying the handle with a rancid **BOOM**. You don’t know how the door broke down so easily, or maybe the other beat it down too hard--But he strangles himself from the archway, as he hobbles in tatters. He’s musky, ugly, and looking at you was his biggest mistake.

_You swing,_

Hitting him on the shoulder, as he grabs at you and tries to do about the same.

It’s so hard to get a good look at him, as all you manage to do is run backwards and into the other room. You stifle to call the police, but decide against it as he follows you. _Hobbles_ toward you. He smells like jackass, and you’re unsure of where he could of possibly come from. He looks like he dropped from the sewers, nasty looking tone to his skin as you scaredly hear John come from the upstairs--

_“JOHN, stay back!”_

_“Dad???”_

You hear feet clatter towards the bottom level, and you hiss out in anger as you lash back at your son.

“ _I SAID, stay_ **_BACK_ **.” Is all you manage to garble, as the intruder comes forward.

You hit at him again, coming from the side of your good arm, as your next swing is to his head. You hear more sounds, more _snarls_ come from the outside and bite your good lip, as you fasten your way towards the main door, and drive it shut with your foot.

You see hands come from the broken window, and you feel lodged in a nightmare.

You bellow out a scream, as you hit the intruder with one final push, and knock him dead on the ground. 

“John, we’re going. Pack your bags!!”

“Wha--But _da_ \--”

“ _Now._ Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

You hustle up the stairs, as you push John with you upstairs. You go through your closet first, and take both of your jackets, you head into your room next and fling emergency things like bandages and money into an opened flat suitcase. You take a bundle of your clothes and throw it in there, as you make hurry work of the list of things you need to do. You need to stay top speed, time is what you need.

“John, get your suitcase.”

You hear a quiet shuffling of feet, as you move from out your room, to his and grab at a bunch of clothes from his closet and throw it in there.

“Dad, where are we going?” He asks you, hurriedly.

“Out. They probably have refugee stations open. Go and find your last bit of things, we’re leaving in five minutes.” You reply in a tick.

He doesn’t say anything, instead running to the bathroom to get some of his toiletries, and he brings back a toilet roll with him and some wipes.

“Good thinking son,” You say as you throw everything he brought back in the bag, and zip it up quick.

You take both bags, and rush them down the stairs, as John follows right behind you. You get no reprieve as the noises outside jolt you to go faster and faster. You steal some last minute snacks from the kitchen, and throw them with the rest of your things in the garage, as you turn around once to look at the man on the floor.

You _breathe,_

Your suburban home.

Your life.

You don’t know what to make of the sheer terror laying on your rug, but you’re as stunned as he is when you take another breathe, and mull your tongue.

You turn back around.

It’s time to go.


	3. April 13th, 2008, Dad

April 13th, 2008

Dear Journal,

Hello. This is the first entry into this journal I got from a work friend years ago. I plan to use it to track down my thoughts, and plans during the upcoming prognostication. There are things going on in this world that’s completely out of my depths in knowledge. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like there was an unleash of convicts belugerin the city. They’re beating up inside people’s homes, trashing neighborhoods. Causing everyone to flee from their status and households.

I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but I know it is serious. Possibly even catastrophic. It had enough news for the president to have to give a speech on the cornering events. It was chilling, as it was hopeful. I’m glad the officials are on the job, hurried stat during such affairs.

Some man broke into our home. He scared John, and could have killed me. I don’t know what he wanted, or if he had just been trashing empty homes in the neighborhood. Whatever it was, he’s dead now.

I’m currently stopped in a traffic jam, as I write this. I ran outside the house so quickly, it’s just me and my son trying to survive this nuclear revolt. There are so many cars on the road, we are certainly not the first to try and evacuate. It feels like we’re one of the last. I see people actually leaving their vehicles the jam is so dense.

When I stepped into the car, I was originally going to go to a homeless shelter or a bomb threat station somewhere, but once I actually sat down I thought about my mom. Our first detour is going to be set on seeing that she’s safe, and with us during our travels. I just need to make sure she gets the proper care, and that she knows what’s going on in these hagardly times.

I feel resound in my judgement, at least so far. John was smart, and packed toilet paper in the bag, which was good thinking due to how the nature of these facilities tend to hold themselves. There’s no going back home after this, or I suppose I could once everything quiets down. I just hope more people don’t junk up my estate too gravely.

I’d like to have a home to go back to.

The traffic’s starting back up, so I’ll put my pen and paper down.

_ Always lovingly, _

Signed, James


	4. ==>

“Dad. Where are we going?”

“We’re driving over to see Nanna,”

The car is in full stop. Not a single person is moving or making hedgeway outside of the lanes. But you’re too preoccupied forward to give a damn about any of that. You just steady your hands on the wheel. Grip the leather. You swear underneath your breath, low enough that your son can’t hear it. 

You look at the next exits to see if yours is coming up.

You’ve been out here with John for three hours, and thankfully, neither of you has had to use the bathroom. You look at the greenery on the edge of the road, and sermount that a tree would be as good of an option as anything if the need were to ever arrive.

You get off in the next three exits, so you hope your time is a lot easier once you do. John is on his phone, laying across the seats as he must be chatting away and talking to his friend. You’re glad he’s able to get a signal out here.

The traffic starts to lighten up the minute you get off the highway. You make a swift curve down the right lane, and try to keep your thoughts on the road. All of this stress has worked up quite a sweat on your brow. You’re not sure how John’s doing in all this, so you decide to speak up and ask.

“How’s everything feeling for you buck-o?”

“I’m a little hungry.”

“We’ll go stop somewhere after we pick up grandma.” You promise.

You make quick eye contact with the road, then back on your son.

“How are your friends holding up? Has this affected them yet?”

“Dave said his Bro and him are going to try to stay put, since they live on the top floor it’s hard to get to them.”

“They did say to stay up. I remember that.”

“Rose is in hysterics. I haven’t spoken to Jade, yet. I’ve been talking with Dave, mostly.”

“Are they alright?”

“Yeah, they’re alright.”

You look at the low buzz of the road, and keep yourself centered. The trees and city lights give you little sanctity of mind, as you just try to keep yourself steady. Trying your best not to replay the events that happened inside your own home.

“How are you feeling...I mean, about everything that’s happened?”

“A little...uh...sorry, hold on.” 

You look over at your reflective mirror, and catch glances of John. He moves from sitting upright to laying upside down on the seats as he types away on his phone. He’s still wearing his favorite ghostbuster shirt that you bought him. He’s still acting like a silly teenager.

Everything is still normal. 

Right.

“Shit,” He swears to himself.

“Language.”

“Sorry…” He mumbles apologetically to you.

You move your eyes back on the road, and almost laugh at yourself from your own nervousness. Frankly, you always got a kick out of swears from your son, though you would never tell him that. You had tried to raise him to be polite for women’s sake. It was mostly for the parents sake, more than the girl’s, but you wanted him to be seen as a nice suitor. The tradition out lends itself to you, even though it doesn’t entirely make sense.

Especially today, you don’t know what you were thinking. Habit mainly. You’re nerves were at their most hyperactive these past few hours.

He’s growing up so quickly. It warms you to see him aging out of things. 

“You know, once we pick up grandma, we can try to see what’s open and get some food into that ol’ gut of yours. How’s that sound champ?”

“Thanks dad.”

You re-grip the steering wheel and swipe your tongue. You adjust your mirrors and swerve the wheel in the direction you need to go. Thoughts weighting down on you, as you do. You open your mouth,

“We’ll be fine.” 

Yeah, we’ll be fine.

***

You drive up to the house that you’ve traveled too many-a-times.

You brace yourself.

The wind outside is chilling. You park underneath a tree, that swings its branches listlessly above you. The roads are desolate without as much as a chime to break the soundlessness. You try to keep yourself even, and turn around to your son.

“I’m going inside to check on nan’, stay in the car. If anything happens, beep the horn or scream as loud as you can. You’ll be alright by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Good…” You wring your head, and sigh. Dragging your feet, as you head out the car.

You open the door, and click on it to lock it. Hopefully this will all only take a few minutes. You rustle your own hair, and fast walk to the front of the house. You look around, checking to see how disturbed the fauna is. Everything seems normal. Good. Cool. You hope she’s safe.

You knock on the front door. Stepping in place, as you do a little dance in wait. You stay there for a few minutes, before knocking again, and raising your voice.

“ _Mom_ ,” You say while knocking feverently.

You feel cold, as you swish your hands to the inside of your arms. You give a knock again after nothing.

“ _Shit_ ,” You say again, as you get out your keys.

You open the door after a few seconds, and jangle the lock. You walk inside, closing the door with your foot, as you project your voice. 

“ _Mom, are you in the bath?_ ” You say loud enough that the whole house echoes your voice. You walk quickly.

“ _Mom?_ ” You say a little louder.

You walk past the entryway, into the living room. Half jogging, as you consider going upstairs to the bedroom, when you see it--

“Mom?” 

You see a chair turned backwards, as your mom’s at the dresser. Her back is to you, when you walk over to her.

“Mom, have you heard about the new--”

  
  
  
  
  


She turns around.

Her face is pale.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You stop yourself, as your own face goes ghost white.

“ _Mom…?_ ” You breathe out, a hand leaning to touch her.

“... _.rrrrgh_ …” She says lowly, as the whites of her hairs frizz out in the window shine behind her.

You jerk your hands back, when her face sneers at you.

You step back.

She gurgles in a low voice, almost like a dog, and waves a hand towards you.

You keep going backwards.

You stumble on a chair.

“Ma…” Is all you can get out of yourself, before you turn.

You run.


	5. April 14th, 2008, Dad

April 14th, 2008

Dear Journal,

It was horrible.

The whole house looked like an antiquated still birth of a home.

It was dusty, there were cobwebs.

My mother...

I can’t believe everything that’s happened so far.

John and I keep running into bad luck.

First what happened in the house…

But then the facilities.

All of them are too jam packed, the officials turned us away as we drove up to the lot.

We had to sleep in our car for the night.

John was hungry, so we drove up to a Denny’s.

There were hardly any staff left, but they did cook us a meal.

Free of charge.

I plan to drive out the state to find more wreckage places, since Seattle is a big area, there probably aren’t a lot empty places left.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Everything seems to be working out against us.

I hope we find a place to stay soon,

_With Love_ ,

James Egbert


	6. ==>

There wasn’t a lot of luck looking for places to stay for the night.

Currently, you’re stalled up in your car.

An abandoned parking lot as your only sanction. You have no place to call your own. Just you and your small family of two, tightly sealed in the car waiting for a miracle. A sign. Something. Anything. Anything better than this. Anything would be better than God awful, this.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You have absolutely no plans. No ideas. Nata. Zilch. Zip.

You don’t know what you’re going to do about you and your little one. It’s just you and John. No mother, no friends, no one else there to lean on or look out for you.

Your world’s in shambles.

It’s absolutely completely broken.

You don’t know what to do, you’re stressed out.

You couldn’t really sleep last night.

You spent most of it with your leg shaking enough in the front seat to bruise it blue. Your nerves made you susceptible to keeping the act up a full ten hours, and by the time you decided to quit trying, you kept yourself up by keeping watch and writing mindless notes in your journal.

You could use a cup of coffee.

Maybe a smoke too. _ Damn, _ you forgot your pipe.

Next time you drive up to a gas station, you might get yourself some smokes. Hopefully they still have some in stock. A lot of places look near damn deserted, and it doesn’t take you being a private investigator to get the gist of the situation. Most people ran. Yourself included.

You hope for John in these coming times, that he’s alright over there. He slept like a baby while you yourself couldn’t. Poor, sport must have been exhausted. It was a long day, a long night. Strenuous is shy of what you would call the leading events up to now.

You haven’t managed to talk to him about what happened yet with your mother, all you got across was that she wasn’t coming along. Obviously, at least.

You really don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to say about anything that’s happened so far. You feel like you’re strung out to dry on a wash bin. And that you’re tethered on a rope, let out for the wind to haggle and have away with you. You don’t know what to do.

John rouses from his sleep, and grumbles something in the back. 

You turn around, and wrap your arm around the headrest as you move to talk to your son.

“Had a good rest?” You ask, quietly while studying him in the dark.

“Yeah...I have to pee.” He mumbles.

“There’s toilet paper in the back, just use the trees.” You interject.

“Ugh…” He wallows to himself, as he opens the door to the car.

“Don’t go too far,” You yell over the noise of the trunk opening.

“Yeah, ok.” He answers.

The sound of the car clicking in place keeps you figuratively fixed to the view of trees, and the scenery around you. You watch as John hobbles over towards the greenery, stretching out your neck hard enough to be able to see him around the bushes. He does as you said, and doesn’t go too far, as you keep watch over the surrounding areas to make sure nothing moves.

When he comes back, you settle yourself down by a fraction of a degree. Having to turn yourself off from guard mode, to at least more comfortably ‘dadly.’ The times are getting to you, that’s for sure. But it’s better to be getting in the swing of things, than to be ‘gotten’ in the first place.

You sigh.

“When do you think we’ll get to go home?” John asks suddenly.

“...Soon, son.” You say in remorse. Home is the last place you’ve been thinking of, but it gives you more stress on your plate to even dream about it. You really do need that cigarette.

You put the car in drive, and move to leave the desolated parking spot that you had, had all night. The winds pick up outside, making noise as you deliberate the car. You know which way you’re going, and set your sights for a long upheaval rather than a short cruise. The mountains rise along the coast of your vision, as you drive throughout the neighborhoods.

“I’m going to stop at a gas station,” You say while speeding at about eighty in the barren streets. The mark of civilization looks rather clunky from your seat. A lot of these stores look deserted and abandoned on the street road. You turn your car.

“Ok.” John replies cooly, leaving you to your own devices. He goes back to dawdling with his phone, and you go back to worrying your arsenal on more things you need. Food, Wipes, Cigs….

You pull up to the driveway gas station.

A working pump…

You sigh, as you pop out the car, and check around you to make sure there’s nobody around the area. It’s just your car in the lot, you don’t even know if there’s anyone working the register inside...You’ll check before you're done. You put your credit card in the slot, and pay the still working machine the money you need for a full tank. You then wait around as it does it’s bidding.

You look around you, making sure nothing comes near the car. Once out of nervousness, twice for the breeze that tricks you into thinking something was drawing near you.

You’re still safe for now. You and John.

Once the pump is through, you shake it back into its slot, and move to knock on the glass of the car window John’s sitting in.

“I’m going to go check inside. I’ll be right back.”

He nods his head, and that alerts you that he’s self aware. From there, you deserve to trust your son that everything will be alright in the short passage that you’re gone.

You round up the wall, and carefully slip inside the store. The windows are boarded up, and everything is seemingly fine, if not, vacant. There’s no one standing at the counter, but shockingly the door was open. You look around the aisles, and see snacks and things. Littered with junk food, a coffee machine, juices in the freezer. 

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do in cases like these.

You watch the snack aisle for quite some time, deliberating on whether you should take one or not, when--

  
  
  
  


**_HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK._ **

  
  
  
  


Is heard from outside. You dash back out the store to see SOMEONE outside the car with John freaked out in the back seat. Scurried to the front in case it manages to barge in. He’s stuck, jailed in the car for all better resolutions.

You take no time.

You look around and take some plywood from the window.

You fight.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ Slam,  _

Is heard from the snap of wood hitting the ugly bastard’s head. 

You rush the fiend,

_ And slam _

Again.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He walks with a weird jank in his step, but it doesn’t stop you from putting your all into it.

John watches you from the inside of the glass, as sweat drips from your mouth.

You cruise the side of the car, and your muscles twitch in agony of the hard hit.

It goes for you once more, and you

drop

him

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


dead.

  
  
  
  
  


You look at the mess you’ve made, and languidly get in the car as you keep your gaze on the back of you.

You rush to the front--

“Ok--let’s go.  _ Now _ .”


	7. April 15th, 2008, Dad

**Notes as of April 15th:**

(x2) rolls of toilet paper

(x2) jackets

(x6) pants

(x5) tops

(x2) toothbrushes

(x3) toothpaste

(x2) snacks… ate some before

(x1) wallet with: 365$ in cash

(x1) journal

\- Need to go through John’s suitcase to record his inventory...

Threat:

\- dead stare

\- they smell

\- sewer people (???)

\- not good listeners

\- odd colors to skin

\- violent

\- bad teeth. bad breath

\- feral, like animals

\- unpredictable

\- will put more as I understand them…

Facilities:

~~Weedin Place Fallout Shelter,~~ Already full

~~Seattle’s Union Gospel mission~~ , no food. Too many people

~~Seattle Indian shelter~~ , full

~~Women’s Referral Center~~ , Only accepting with young children (John doesn’t constitute as young?! Me and the security guard got in a fight.)

United States Mission

Compass Housing Alliance

William Booth Center

Sacred Heart Shelter

YWCA Emergency Shelter

Noel House Woman’s Center

SHARE, Seattle Housing and Resource Effort

Saint Martin Deporres Shelter

Salvation Army Service Extension Department

Bread of Life Mission

Adult Service Shelter

Salvation Army Women’s Shelter


	8. John: Talk to Dave

EB: so did you hear about the news?

EB: hello?

TG: sorry

TG: my bro wanted me for something

TG: oh

TG: news

TG: so you know

EB: ...yeah.

TG: about

TG: you know

EB: zombies coming out from the hills to kill all of us, huh?

TG: i mean

TG: it sounds like a joke

TG: rose still thinks its just a nationwide prank

TG: but the newscasters are going all out

TG: they even enlisted the whole president

TG: like

TG: fuck

TG: the one and only pd of united states

TG: making a holy ulcer of a speech on nationwide television

TG: theyre really making a show of it

TG: if its a real prank that is

EB: i saw one…

EB: it busted into our house!

TG: shit

TG: you ok john

TG: hello??

EB: yea.

EB: fine.

EB: my dad and i are evacuating.

EB: we’re currently on the road.

TG: holy shit

TG: are you guys alright

TG: bros still watching the news but

TG: he says we might just sit it out

TG: i dunno

TG: he says itll take them a long time to get upstairs

TG: were on high levels and so far theyre known to have trouble climbing

TG: hello?

EB: yeah, sorry.

EB: my internet keeps dropping.

EB: shitty service on the road.

TG: keep me posted alright

TG: just in case my bro changes his mind

TG: we might end up following suit

EB: yeah yeah i’m going to talk to rose.

TG: i dont think shes taking it well personally

EB: i dont think any of us are really.


	9. John: Recall Past Events

Today was a special day.

Today was supposed to be your birthday.

It’s April thirteenth, two-thousand-eight, and your dad had gotten you some sweet gifts. Hallmark cards. A birthday cake, the whole works! But...Who would have known that date would have marked the end of the world as you’d known it.

Certainly not you, 

You, John Egbert had woken up early to the world known apocalypse.

And you got to have front row seats.

You had just been on the computer, talking to Dave about some of the cool loot you got, when you had heard something come from downstairs. Your father had called you first, but there was a loud noise that had made you more alert once you had heard it. It sounded like something horrible had banged against the house. It was loud enough to shake you as you ran downstairs.

But when you got there, all you could hear was the news on your big screen television downstairs.

It was blaring loudly, and your dad had looked glued to the TV station. Honestly, you didn’t know what any of it was about.

So you sat downstairs.

And you watched.

You watched as countless of people were running from something…

Some sort of threat…

Apparently it was monsters.

No, not monsters.

_Zombies._

They weren’t just fake things made out for fake entertainment from rich people who lived on the west coast in California or something. There were things about this world that were strange enough to make fiction a reality. Fake comic book stories were now practically autobiographies. Who knew what other things were able to become real to any wayward finatic.

The possibilities were endless, but they were also scary. 

You didn’t know how you were supposed to proceed. 

“Dad...I’m scared,” You finally said after some time.

He brought you into his lap at that, and shooshed you.

“We’re going to be safe, son.” He said while swallowing spit. His voice seemed rather hollow, as he continued. “Just stay put, we’ll get this all straightened out...”

You nodded your head, and kicked your legs from his standpoint. That was until, you heard a loud banging come from outside.

Your neck almost snapped as you went to look, but your dad brought you out from between his thighs and placed you back on to the ground.

He whispered gently into your ear, “ _Go back upstairs. Stay away from the windows, I’m going to get some things from the garage_.”

You nodded again, and moved to go up the stairs. Your feet thumping loud from your exertion, as you do everything to not pay attention to the way your heart thuds against your chest. And the way the moments tick by like hours. The noises. The harsh whip of the wind outside the window you’re not allowed to see.

You rip your gaze away from it, staring at the ceiling on your bed for a long while, as you try to curl up and hide. You shrink yourself on the small of your mattress. Hands folded against yourself, as you try your best not to panic. 

You hear the loud thumps from downstairs, of your dad barricading the house.

This whole thing feels like a nightmare.

Eventually, you hear your dad call out to you, and you move to the doorway to get better hearing.

“ _JOHN_ ,” He repeats loudly,

“ _Yeah_?”

“ _CAN YOU GET ME BANDAGES FROM MY MEDICINE CABINET?_ ”

You hear him right, as you go swiftly into his room. Ignoring most of the decor, as you go straight to his bathroom and start to look for where he put the bandaid box. You look underneath the cabinet, in the glass window. You don’t see it anywhere. It takes you a couple minutes of repeating the action, before you see it in one of the hidden cabinitries in the far corner.

You turn your heel around, and start to go downstairs, when you see your dad backed against the wall. There’s a guy in your house, and your father looks like he’s trying to fight him off.

“ _JOHN_ ,” Your dad calls out. “ _Stay back!_ ”

“ _Dad,_ ” You rush down the stairs. Your feet jumbling loudly, as you try to keep up your pace.

“ _I SAID stay_ **_BACK_ **,” He says rather harshly. Throwing his hand back at you to get you out the way.

You stop yourself on the stairs, and watch closely to the fight progressing in the room.

You look left.

You look right.

You’re frightened beyond belief at what transpires, and you’re not sure if you should try to help, or if your dad has everything under control. There’s a person in your house! There’s a person in your house!!!

You watch as your dad swings at him with a crowbar, and you feel like dead weight as you stumble on the floor.

_Smack._

_Smack._

_Swish._

_Swing._

Eventually one of them gets to him, and with an unearthly _crack_ he falls down and lands flat on his face.

You don’t see blood, but you feel like throwing up, as your dad pushes you up the stairs.

“John, we’re going. Pack your bags!!” His steps are hard and rushed, as he pushes past you up steps.

“Wha--But _da_ \--” You grunt, as you’re still moving. Your head goes from him to the monster on the floor.

“Now. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” He takes you by your arm, and runs up with you.

You don’t say much else, as you go to your room to get your bag. You find it sitting in the closet, as you drag it to your bed, and start looking for your father.

He comes out of his room quickly, and moves to yours as he starts packing miscellaneous things.

You just stand around on the floor, looking lost as everything moves so fast.

“ _Dad?_ Where are we _going?_ ”

“Out.” He says curtly, as he starts zipping up the suitcase. “They probably have refugee stations open--Go and find your last bit of things, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

You swallow, slowly walking out of the room. But your walk turns to a run, as you go to the bathroom to start looking for your toothbrush, toothpaste. You kneel down, going through the cabinet as you see toilet rolls, and think wryly as you grab it. You don’t know why you do, but you hold all the things in your hands, and go and give them to your father. 

He looks on at you with a slight approving nod, as he takes it.

“Good thinking son.” He rubs you on the head, and you smile, as you help him re-zip up the bag again.

“ _Ok_ ,” He says underneath his breath, as he takes both suitcases in each hand, and runs down the stairs.

You follow in suit, as you move to walk around the corpse in your living room, and go straight into the car. You roll spit in your mouth, as you lock yourself into the back, and sigh out. The whole thing’s stressing you out majorly, you can barely keep your mind sitting in one spot for more than a milisecond. 

You close your eyes, and make your breaths as even as it can possibly be. Your heart’s thrumming out of your chest, and it’s hitting your nerves in your head. Giving you a swarming headache. You just breath, inhale, exhale, _inhale, exhale._

Your dad shuts the front of the car, and the garage opens.

“Are you in your seatbelt?”

“Yeah.”

You pull out your driveway,

And you go.

***

When you pull out, you watch as your driveway gets smaller and smaller from view. Everything rushes in a blend of colors. Greens, greys, the sun is clouded over currently, so the whole ride is downcast in grey. Your dad doesn’t say anything for most of the trip, but you notice the splotches of grime on his clothes.

Is that dried over blood…?

You gulp, as you settle yourself in the back. Your eyes go to look at the streets. Everything looks turned over. Like everyone was going at top speeds, and everyone was getting out in a hurry. There are a lot of cars, but not a lot of people on the streets. You see a few of those _walkers_ walking staggardly in abandoned houses, and it freaks you out enough to keep your eyes peeled to the back of your dad’s head.

You want to say something to break the silence, but you’re a little too scared to try. You don’t know what you want to say. Your dad looks pumped on the road, and that he’d like silence more than talking, but…

“Dad…?” You speak up.

“Yes son.” He says after a moment. He must have been thinking to himself, after all. Golly, you’re probably a little rude.

“Are we going to be ok?” You stutter out in a quiet voice.

“Yes son, everything will be fine.” He says, outright.

***

“Dad. Where are we going?” 

“We’re driving over to see Nanna,”

You had gotten bored in the back, not an hour after leaving. So for the majority of the trip, you were twiddling on your phone. Hoping to get a signal. It’s been in and out all day, but you were mostly talking to Dave. 

The drive by was otherwise uneventful, which you suppose is a good thing after everything you’ve went through. You’re not sure what constitutes as ‘normal’ after such life threatening stipulus. But you’re sure normalcy has flown right out the window, as far as you’re concerned.

You don’t know what to call the situation, other than well...scary.

Most bad movies from the nineties depicted zombies as these weird carnivore looking hobbits. They walked and drudged around like they had anchors tied to their back. They bit and sliced at people with enough reckless abandon that it scared you as a child, but made you laugh as a teenager. Zombies were like the lowest link of monsters in society, nothing to a werewolf, a vampire, or Godzilla. 

But just as suddenly as they became real, they also became that more fearsome.

You don’t know how you’re supposed to handle any of this.

“How’s everything feeling for you buck-o?”

Your dad breaks the silence, suddenly. Asking you how you feel after everything that’s transpired. You’re not really at your best. You’d like to tell him that you’re over the moon with worry. That everything starts to get shaky when you think about earlier. That you’re not sure what delegates as real, fake, or imaginary anymore as more and more of your personal foundations and beliefs start to crumble down.

“I’m a little hungry,”

Is all you manage to say.

“We’ll go stop somewhere after we pick up grandma.”

He states clarent. 

You nod your head back to your phone, as you start typing to him a bit of your anxieties. It’s easier to talk to Dave than it is to talk to your dad. Your dad seems already overly stressed, like he’s just making polite conversation more than he actually cares. You guess that might be a bit of a harsh analys, but really you’re not trying to burden him with more of your feelings while he’s probably trying to think.

You don’t know, all of this is really getting to you.

“How are your friends holding up? Has this affected them yet?” 

“Dave said his Bro and him are going to try to stay put, since they live on the top floor it’s hard to get to them.” 

“They did say to stay up. I remember that.”

You see your dad adjust his mirrors in the front, and you turn your gaze to the window as you bop your head against it. You close your eyes as you think of being anywhere but here. The road giving you a soft respite from all the hullabaloo. The stream of trees blur against the glass, and keeps you preoccupied for a time. It takes a little while, but you assume your dad notices your strain, and perks up again.

“How are you feeling...I mean, about everything that’s happened?”

You blink out of your stupor, and glance down at your phone as it starts to vibrate.

“A little...uh...sorry, hold on.”

You adjust your sitting position to lay on your back, and start typing to Dave about him and his brother. Your feet clack loudly against the seat cushion, as your legs are spread out in an awkward upright position. Dangling from above the ground, as your fingers continue to hit against the keys.

You’re at least glad that you’re not the only one going through this. On your end, you’re the only one evacuating so far, but you’re at least happy to not feel so alone. Dave doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Nobody does, really.

But just as suddenly as you’re calm, you’re met with the network breaking and your signal goes down to a single bar. You swear, but your dad hears you curse, and you apologize. You bite your lip as you keep opening up the wifi tab. Refreshing it, checking to see if any of the other little networks show up.

Nothing does, and you groan.

It’s so boring just sitting in the car without the notifications of your friends pinging you every five minutes. You decide to open a game while you wait. Granted, most of your phone games REQUIRE an internet service to actually launch, which makes you groan even more.

You raspberry in dissatisfaction.

“You know, once we pick up grandma, we can try to see what’s open and get some food into that ol’ gut of yours. How’s that sound champ?”

You glance back up at your father, and smile a little bit.

“Thanks dad.” You reply.

“We’ll be fine,” He says reassuringly, as he pulls on a curve.

You stare out the window for more reasons than one, as the world starts to blur around you. You check the sky, and see birds flock in a large array. Crows of a certain magnitude ride across from where you can see in a huge herd enough to fill a building. They look so treacherous up there. You wonder if they are safe, away from all the danger.

Can animals turn into zombies? Is it just a people disease or an anything that walks disease?

That could make all of this more complicated.

Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into hours. You notice a lot signs, picket fences, and airplanes on the road. There was a dude walking with a cardboard poster that read ‘will work for shelter,’ in large red paint. You didn’t know what to think of it, or if your dad saw. You wonder what he’d thought.

Everything seemed so dismal, it was hard to really paint a picture of it, other than depressing. Whenever you glanced out the window, you saw gray clouds. It was pillowing your whole view, and mimicked your whole feeling on the situation. 

Every time you passed a person outside, they looked scared and like they were homeless. Everyone’s cars were packed to the britches. Some people looked like they had packed their whole house. Like, they had just been on vacation, and the amount of people and what they had were so dense. You saw someone’s underwear drift off the back of a van, and it almost hit your car.

Your dad had snapped his teeth at that, and pulled to the other side of the road.

Eventually you got off the highway, and made it on neighborhood streets. There was still a lot of ongoing havoc. Garbage cans turned upside down. Houses that looked broken into. It looked like the slums in parts, and like normal in others.

Your dad eventually pulled up to your nanna’s house, and turned around. Reclining in the seat,

“I’m going inside to check on nan’, stay in the car. If anything happens, beep the horn or scream as loud as you can. You’ll be alright by yourself?”

“Yeah.” You say.

He nods his head at your answer, and gets out the car first stop. The door slams, and you’re left alone to your own devices for a time. (Literally, so at this point.) You watch as he stands on the porch, and knocks. He looks a little antsy as he’s waiting around for her to answer.

Eventually, he just goes inside, and you’re left alone by yourself as you watch from your viewing point. 

Your eyes go to the tree right outside your nan’s house, that shakes and billows right next to the window sill that your nanna would sit you under sometimes when you were younger. The branches roar, and grind next to the glass, that you’re sure it has scratched it irreparably for how long the house has sat for.

The wind threatens to break, as it hisses and howls from the outside. It would scare you if you weren’t already so chilled for the winter. You were in a jumpy mood though--as you saw a cat that startled you running from bushes to bushes.

You bite your tongue, and curse while your dad’s not in the car. Hoping he comes back soon with nan’ so that all of this could be over. You stare out the window wordlessly, and keep your eyes peeled on the street other than towards anywhere else.

But, your eyes go up, and you notice some helicopters flying right around. One of them had something tapered at the end. It was a sign. A wall of text that read, ‘stay strong, Seattle.’ It made you purse up. You sat yourself by the edge of your seat, and curled your arms around each other.

Stay strong.

After moments, you heard a loud _slam_ of the front door as your dad ran back to where you could see him. He looked like he was hyperventilating, as his back was to the wall. His clothes disheveled, everything about him seemed rushed and it made you a little more alert.

He stood out there for a moment, pacing round and round, until he finally stopped on the patio, and rung his hand through his hat. 

After moments of his father looking down at the sidewalk, he fast paced himself towards the car and opened the door.

“Let’s go.”

“W--”

“I SAID let’s go. Now.”

Your father hit the steering wheel with both hands, as his head was the next thing to _thud._ The car vibrated at the jolt your father put it through, and you thought you might have heard him kick at the breaks. 

You kept silent.

After several moments of the air trying to even itself out, you saw your father pull back, and start the car. It ran as efficiently as it always had, but your dad didn’t look at you. He just kept his eyes on the road, as he pulled the car in drive.

You left the house without a word. The world was dreary, and grey like it had always been. The day didn’t seem to give much in way of light. 

You wonder what your dad saw.

You drove off the lot, headlights blinking as your dad made a turn towards the other side of the road. A cheerless Sunday, you drove on cobblestone and dirt as you made your way back to the highway. Back to fork holes and bad traffic jams that only edged on about a mile a minute.

You had been on the road for some time, when your father had decided to speak up,

“Sorry for raising my voice at you, John…”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on the road, as lights and cars lit up your face as things just passed you by. It was starting to get late, the streaks of blue-grey starting to mask into a darker tone. The crowd didn’t let up, but the street lights were fastened to turn on at any moment. 

“Hopefully, we’ll make it to one of the facilities before night break.”

“Dad, I’m hungry.”

“Alright, son.”

You saw pools of cars start to pile up at one of the exits, which means that’s likely the destination of the closest shelter. Your dad pulls toward the onslaught of people, as car horns bleep and blare on top of each other. The sound making a caterwauling noise that has your ears bleeding as people pull up to the side of the road.

Eventually the traffic heeds itself, and you roll up towards a tall looming building that must go up several different floors. It’s grey with black shutouts and a steely ugly metal fence. There’s blue sheets covering some of the metal, and it makes the place seem under construction, or something like that. 

More car horns sound, the length of the way from the exit to the doorway back. Your dad unravels the window, but he’s met with the shaking heads of employees, as they yell loudly.

“NO MORE ROOM.”

“Do you know any other places that might be free?”

“SORRY. WE’RE STUFFED HERE.”

Your dad pulls up the window again, and drives out of the lot. His frustrated groans can be heard all the way in the back. You look between the people just standing out there. They look like ghosts hidden in an alleyway, but they’re in plain sight. Faces somber, and pale as they look as if they got mugged, perhaps.

You don’t know, you wonder if your face matches theres.

Everyone looks like they came out of a train wreck. In your humblest opinion, you think the train probably looks less depressing than the people. And that’s after it’s been shattered. You wonder if there are any worse ways to dampen a mood than thoughts of a blimp of a crash.

“Hungry?” He says to you in the back.

Your stomach growls in response. Your dad gets off at an exit, and he looks around town for things that look open. So far, all you can see is cars, trees, and leftover debris that tumbles like weeds at the edges of parking lots. Papers and plastic bags scatter throughout the leftover city into the sky and skyscrapers that make up the residence. Everything seems so dirty and second hand, it’s like nobody’s lived here for a long time instead of the eight or twelve hours that it’s been chaotic.

Your dad notices in big bright letters that the “Denny’s” sign is still lit up, so your dad curves in to pull up there. 

Good thing too, because you’re absolutely starving.

***

“We’re just going to sleep here for the time being.”

You look around you, and you turn back to your dad.

“You mean...out here? In the woods?”

“It will only be for a little while, just for tonight.”

You pause, looking a little in shock, before sitting back.

The night is cold.

Your name’s John Egbert, and you know you’ve seen better days.

It’s dark outside, you can hardly see aside from the lights of the street lamps that make up the corridor. It’s orange and pitch black as far as the eyes can see. Possibly still cloudy, if you can make out the shapes from around where the hidden moon shows off its light. 

The temperature dropped, making it even frigid from the car parked in an empty warehouse parkway. Nobody’s around, not a soul. Maybe a bear or two from the conservation, but nothing stirs outside while it is the darkest of nights to the evening sky’s array of wild treats. The eerie silence keeps you on your toes, as you recline backwards in your seat. Back hitting the cup holder that juts out the middle. You pull it back, and lay across the cushion, wondering to yourself if you’re going to get much sleep tonight.

There are crickets singing their song outside, frogs croaking that make up the banquet of the mountainous noise coming from out your window. You turn your head back, and try to take a glance outward. There isn’t much to look at, just trees and dark from all the way down the road.

Your mind goes back to zombies, and you feel your face break out in a cold sweat.

“Are any of the things going to get us?”

“No. Of course not, I’ll never let that happen.”

You swallow, as your mind pictures those decrepit legged people hobbling over to you. Hobbling over to the car, batting at it like a child wasting their money at a crane game at a carnival. Their corpses radiating fear into you as one of their eyes goggle out from the socket.

You swallow.

“Do you think any of the places will be open tomorrow,”

“I’m sure they will be. This will probably just be short lived.”

You nod, even though you know he can’t see it. You turn your leg over your other, as you try to relax. Earlier imagination making your stomach pit, as you turn around once. Twice, multiple times in the back seat. You feel fidgety, anxious. Like the whole world is coming over you and shaking you in your little quaking booties. You hate this. You hate feeling like this.

You turn around again, but your catch your dad watching you from his rear mirror, and you just make a noise, as you try to untangle your limbs.

“There are blankets in the trunk, if you want one.” 

Your dad says, facing you with his arm on the rest.

You scurry up from your seat, and pull the lock on the door up, as you feel the brisk cold air hit you the minute you open the door. It really is cold out there, so cold no animals should be roaming around this even moon’d night. You pop the trunk open from the lift, as you go to try and find the blankets rolled up in the back next to--or around--the suitcases. Your dad keeps blankets in here normally for car trips, so that’s one good emergency box that got ticked during all this.

As soon as you come, you bring the blanket trudged along side with you, and pull it over you, as rest back and find simple solace in the fact that you can probably sleep here after all. You turn around, face crinkling with the sheet, as you blow smoke through your nose. You notice your father wrapping his arms around his waist, and you deign to ask him if he wanted a blanket as well. You didn’t even think to bring him one!

“Are you cold, dad?”

“No, I’m fine. I have my jacket.”

You rest, minutes going by as you lower the lids of your eye, slowly and steadily. The warmth of the blanket, mixed with the warm of the heat coming from the vents coddles you to sleep--or at least, almost does. But you hear a weird noise come from outside, and you perch your head up, as you go to look outside.

“Did you hear that?”

“It’s just the wind, son.”

Right, it’s just the wind.

***

You wake up after you don’t know how long. Clearly, you must have slept pretty well, if the light and sun from outside tell you anything. It rings itself clear as morning, as you get up, stretching your back and your arms from the cooped up atmosphere. Spreading wide and far, as you hear your body and muscles crack. 

“Have a good rest?” Your father asks.

You pop another joint, and answer him. “I have to pee.”

“There’s toilet paper in the back, just use the trees.” 

“Ugh…” You groan, as you open the door to go do your business.

You walk to the trunk and get said toilet roll, as your feet crunch onto the pavement, and then to the grass as you try to go in as far as possible. The trees don’t make you feel safe, they just hide your scathe of embarrassment, as you unzip your pants and turn to face a fairly large oak tree.

“Don’t go too far,” You hear your dad yell back from where he is.

“Yeah, ok.” You call back.

You do as you do, wilting lilies as you go. You park yourself upright, as you finish up the rest of your work, before making it back to the car in one piece. Man, you miss home already. You miss your toilet, you miss your sink. You miss your snacks. You miss your computer. You miss tv. 

“When do you think we’ll get to go home?” 

“...Soon, son.” Your dad answers, briskly.

You miss your toothbrush. You miss running water. You miss a whole bunch of stuff, now that you think about it! You’re not sure when you’re going to get to the rescue center, but sooner rather than later in your mind would be helpful. You don’t know how much of all this wilderness and road tripping you can really handle.

You click in your seatbelt, as your dad takes the car out of park. He backs up, hand on the headspace of the seat, and starts to drive away from the parking lot. Headed straight to nowhere, you don’t know where you all are headed, but hopefully some place safe.

“I’m going to stop at a gas station,” Your father talks.

“Ok,” You answer back, not really paying attention anymore as you take out your phone and try and get a signal. None of your friends are online this time, probably because it’s too early. But you have enough of a signal to play app games. You click on one, and start to go past through one of the levels you stopped on. 

You pull into one. Stop. And your dad gets out the car to pump gas and do his befuddling business. You get a high score in your game, and breeze through one of the levels, as your dad speaks up again.

“I’m going to go check inside. I’ll be right back.”

You say another ‘kay’ as you keep your focus on the bubble popper. You pull your finger up, aiming for one of the rows. A sporadic rainbow of colors tribulate through the screen. You pull another, It doesn’t go through. It doesn’t hit you until you’re faced with--

  
  
  
  
  
  


A face

Pulls on your car.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You scream.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


You curl yourself to the front of the car, lock all the doors, and back yourself into the passenger seat. You forget how to inhale oxygen as your oxygen and pressure go up to the millions. You breathe out in harsh gasps, before remembering to honk the horn to warn your dad.

You do, making a large, 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**_Hooooooooooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnkkkkkk--_ **

  
  
  
  


That can probably be heard all the way into the next state. 

  
  
  
  


Your dad comes out in seconds, and you’re both thankful and scared as he prepares to get you out of harm’s way. He grabs a plank from the wall, and he holds it to himself in safeguard. He circles the van, and goes to hit the monster like it’s a bad bug. It’s head crushes on the glass when he hits it, and it makes you curl up further out the way.

You bump your knee to the steering wheel, and make another **_hooooooonk_ ** with your legs. Your nerves jumping at the barest hint of your skin. You put your hands to your ears, and cover them. Your teeth chattering from fear, and fear alone as the attack onslaughts itself.

 **_Hooooooooonkkk_ **, is the noise you make again. 

“Dad!” You call out from the car, but you’re sure he can’t hear you, as he gives the monster another _whap_ for good measure.

You kick in the front, as your dad whacks it one last time before jumping in the car.

“Ok--let’s go. Now .”

Is all you hear. 

You jet.


	10. John: Be Pestered by Rose

TT: And the news was so flippant about the heading arrival of these foul beasts. Not one of them got a good shot of any of them. Like, the one’s I see online look about as good as a studio makeup sfx artist on the web.

TT: I wonder if they’re casting. 

TT: I’m certainly glad I live in New York, as they might look heedless otherwise.

TT: Sorry.

TT: I’ve been rambling for an hour.

TT: How are you feeling during these cumbersome times?

EB: a walker attacked us.

TT: What.

TT: Are you alright, John???

TT: John, please muffle me of my visage. I’ve been cracking on these nefarious hijack accountancies for the past two hours.

TT: You and your father are safe, right?

EB: we’re out on the road right now.

EB: but, yea...we’re safe. 

TT: Goodness gracious. I feel like such an ambivalent tool.

TT: I hope my mother and I are safe from the hazard.

EB: you live in a mansion, right?

TT: More or less. Yes.

EB: it’d probably take a load of work for any undead creatures to hobble over there!

TT: I do hope that, that’s the case, yes.

TT: Was it scary?

EB: oh, i was terrified! 

EB: my father fought it off.

EB: it’s laying dead on my living room right now, as we speak.

EB: hopefully, it doesn’t walk off and re-animate, since you know it IS a living dead anyway.

EB: or something like that…

EB: sorry, that sounded pretty lame, i’m sure.

TT: No, not at all. I’m just more focused on the fact that you’re still well after the encounter.

EB: how do you turn into a zombie anyway?

TT: From being bitten, I’m pretty sure.

EB: really, that’s it?

EB: i guess you shouldn’t try to come in close contact with any of them.

TT: I’m looking up things online...They say to go straight for the head, or important arteries. Like the heart, the neck, etc.

EB: this is all so…

EB: bizarre.

EB: i don’t know how to wrap my head around any of the events so far!

EB: we’re going to see my nanna…

EB: hopefully she’s fine.

TT: I wish you fair tidings.

EB: thank’s rose!

EB: um…

EB: mind looking up more things, while i can still receive service?

TT: Absolutely.

EB: thanks.


	11. April 16th, 2008, Dad

April 16th, 2008

Dear Journal,

Well...So far, still no luck. They keep shooting us down the minute we get to the entrance. I got in a few fights with some of the people there. 

No, I can’t say I’m taking these events that well.

I need a cigarette. 

John’s been quiet, I’m sure he can see the stress I’m going through.

Poor little guy, he could probably use one too.

Haha, he’s still a little too young to start boozing up.

At least the thought of it put a smile on my face for a time.

No, but I’m worried about him.

Worried about how all the events are taking to him.

Sleeping in our car isn’t the best solution,

I barely sleep a wink most nights, as I’m too paranoid that something’s going to creep up on us.

It’s been an exhausting couple of days.

No, no. I could definitely use that cigar.

I can barely think about anything.

I mean, gosh, I’m still in mourning.

I still haven’t managed to have that conversation with John.

I have to wonder if I ever really will.

I could use a shave, too. My after shadow is growing in thick during these tribulations.

Shit.

I think I might have heard something from outside.

_ With much trepidation, _

James Egbert


	12. ==>

“Sorry, only kids younger than ten are allowed access here.”

“But my son’s only thirteen!”

“It’s just the rules, we’re over capacity.”

“We’ve been living in our car for days! My son is hungry! We’re losing more access to restaurants!”

“Sir, you need to drive around our lot. Take your family and belongings far, but you’re causing a scene. We’re all just trying to get by.”

“Who’s running this establishment! We’re all tired! I’ve been denied by seven stations here already!!”

“Sir--”

“Do you have any idea how far we’ve traveled just to keep hearing ‘no’”

“Sir--”

“Look, my sons in the car! Look at him right there! He’s starving!”

“Sir, it’s time for you to go. You’re holding up the line.”

“You know who’s holding up the line? You all with all of your sardonic bullshit!”

“Sir--”

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Fine! Fine!”

You slam the car door, and get into the front seat.

You hit the wheel.

You hit the wheel again.

Damn it.

_Damn it!_

  
  


Everything is turning backwards. In the span of almost a week, everything has turned south for you and John. You’re starting to lose hope in this gateway labyrinth of upside down protocols. The officials haven’t given you anything sweet to suck on in a long time. You try to keep up with the news from your car, but everything is so bleak that it depresses you. 

You hit the steering wheel again. This time you kick the transmission. Your leg throbs with the action, but you don’t really care, as you’re at your wits end. You settle your head on the wheel, and feel your body breathe as the ringing of your exhales exhaust through the atmosphere of the car.

You kick it again, just for good measure. 

You could almost cry.

“Is everything ok, dad?”

You hear your son say in the back.

You take a stifling breath, and sluggishly move your head from the abjection of the steering wheel. You wipe your eyes, rubbing strokes at the bridge of your nose, as you take in a deep breath.

“Everything’s fine, kiddo.”

You don’t see a reaction come from you on your mirror that you’re staring at, currently. It’s just quiet. You know you’re making a scene. Probably freaking out your dear child. All the horrors he’s had to see already, his father shouldn’t be another one.

Get yourself together, James.

Come on…

Come on!

You rub a palm to your temple, as your other hand is continuously pinching the bridge of your nose. You’re really somewhere between tears, and over exerted stress, but all you do is just breathe. Just try to stay calm. It’ll be ok, no harm’s been done. It’ll all be ok. _It’ll all be ok._

Sigh.

“Are you ok, son?”

You say through a muffled grit of the teeth.

“Yeah,”

Is all he replies,

You turn around. Seeking refuge in the back of your mind, as you look at your son. Really, look him up and down to catch where his head must be caught up. He looks a little frightened…

Of you.

Good, God.

This is a terrible bout of circumstances.

You move your head to your hair, and grapple with it for a spell. Running fingers in a much needed washed groom, you feel stressed. Sticky. You haven’t bathed since about four days ago. You used a cloth under your arms and things, and did about the same for John. You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’re praying on a hope about as helpful as a wash rag.

You gulp down spit.

You need to get yourself together. You need to get ahold of yourself, James. For your child, for your safety. For your mother… For all of it! You feel destitute. Laid to rest on a slab for the wolves. You’re itching for something, a fight, a cigarette, maybe both. You lock yourself in place, jaw clenched. You don’t kick at the seat a fourth time, so there’s one win for yourself in the moment.

You don’t scream.

You rest your head on the wheel, and don’t bother to care when it honks. You’re ragged out for wear, and you don’t have a good angle in sight. You’re waiting for even one single lining in all of this. You’ll be waiting at THAT bus stop for a little while longer, you suppose. 

You get up, rearing your head on straight as you put the car in drive, and drive away from the lot.

You can feel John’s eyes on your back. You look between yourself and him in the back seat. Those sad little blue eyes glancing straight through your heart. You gulp down spit, as you try to think of a conversation piece to soothe him.

“So, how’s school, son?”

“What?”

“Uh…”

You stutter, shit. 

You keep your eyes on the road, as you bite thick on your teeth. You sort of shrink yourself as you pass a road on the highway, and don’t deign to make eye contact for the rest of the way. You almost laugh to yourself as your go-to question is defunct thanks to the harsher events. On a whim, you turn on the radio and listen to the light coos of the music.

Most of the stations are just news broadcasts right now, but you’re in luck as something’s playing music. 

Unless that’s just your cd in the car jam.

Woops.

You drive, fighting the urge to look behind you every few seconds, as your better facilities are used up at keeping your mind on the road. You guess now’s a good time to look through your options. You guess you can try the YWCA next for availability. Maybe you should turn the radio on, actually, to see what’s available. Maybe they’ll tell you some reassuring news.

You do just that, as you turn off your record and go straight for the good stuff.

“ _In recent times, the YWCA has offered no refuge as it’s new local whereabouts, seeing as it’s filled to the stocks--”_

Damn.

You curse under your breath.

_“--but in up coming review, The Salvation Army Women’s Shelter is still offering its services to the growing public--”_

You turn your steering wheel and do about a guesstimate. About an hour away from where you are currently. Guess you know where you’re heading now.

“ _The officials are telling everyone to stay indoors and off the road. The majority of institutions are closed off due to the recent ban-_ -”

You decide to shut down the radio, as it’s making you nervous and you don’t want your son to get down on the fact that neither of you are in the ultimate sweet spot of the current recommendations. 

You turn on your blinkers, and move to the left of the road. Eyes focusing in and out on the traffic. The roads are by no means clear, even after the several day stretch you and John have been facing. You’ve been out in your car for the past week, and you’re hoping at least one of the lines you cast will make _even one_ fish bite. 

“Dad...are we going to be ok?”

“Yeah. We’re going to be ok.” 


End file.
